"I ain't joking Cheshire. Put. Down. The. Needles." Sportsmaster growled. He had the barrel of the 12-guage pointed at the center of his partner's back. A cold look in his eye's pearing through the eye-holes in his mask. From where he was Blake could only partially make the man out. He was large in muscle. Nearly as big as Blake himself. And he wore what seemed to be sports gear. A Hockey Mask, and an Umpire chest-guard were all he could truely make out. He also didn't know if the man was friend or foe.
"Dammit Sporty, can't you see me and the hubby are trying to have a conversation?" She didn't complete her turn towards her partner, she simply turned her head slightly to the left. A cold and slightly, angered smile on her lips. She had been so close. So close, to avenging Tommy. She knew that Blue Dawn had a hand in this, that bastard seemed to know when a drop of piss curved left in a country breeze.
"Really? Because to me, it looked like you were planning on killing this guy. Which, ordinarily, wouldn't bother me a tad. But, see, that ain't what we were paid to do. Observe, but not engage. Simple. Pretty sure you heard it. I did. And you were the one with the walkie-damn-talkie!" Sportsmaster shouted the last part and the gun he held shook in his grasp. He hated partners; even the kinds with breast. First you had to split the pay, which was bad enough. But there was always the chance that a job you were working turned personal for them. And personal, ain't good buisness. It's far too messy to be anything but.
Blake looked at the woman he had loved since the day they met in High School. The woman he still loved to this day. He took a step forward, and tried to speak. "Look, Jade I--"
"Don't f--king call me that!" Cheshire snapped. Her head turning to face Blake's. Her eyes burning with hatred. She wanted him to suffer. To wiggle on the carpet like a wounded animal, covered in bile, blood, and fecal matter. To watch bloody tears pour from his eyes. She contemplated throwing the last needle she held. The one filled to the top. She would have too. If Sportsmaster didn't step close enough with the shotgun to place it between the blades of her shoulders. If he didn't sternly say. "Bitch. Don't even think about it."